


Sundays

by FangQueen



Series: Daily Deviant: Membership Posting Date [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, HP: EWE, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Plants, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 02:17:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9269252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/pseuds/FangQueen
Summary: This was the game they played on Sundays.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tryslora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/gifts).



> Written for [Daily Deviant's Kinky Kristmas 2016](http://asylums.insanejournal.com/daily_deviant/674089.html), based on the following prompt:
> 
>  **This Kinky Kristmas I Wish For…**  
>  **Character(s)/Pairing(s):** Neville/Draco  
>  **Kinks/Themes:** D/s, bondage, tentacles, plants, size kink, collar (any or all would be nice)  
>  **Mood:** Hot, Gentle, Romantic  
>  **Dealbreakers:** felching, sounding, SPEW  
>  **Prompt:** To the outside world, Neville is sweet and undemanding. In the bedroom, however, he's the perfect Dom.
> 
> I’ve actually never written anything with a D/s dynamic before, so I don’t know that my Neville is the “perfect” dom, but I hope he at least does a bang up job of it anyway! It’s difficult when one’s sub is a spoiled, demanding, talkative person himself. xD To my wisher: Thank you so much for this prompt, it was a real treat, as it challenged me to write some new things for me. I hope you enjoy reading it even half as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

It was a mild spring day in London. One of those where the weather was neither too hot, nor too cold. Where the sun was merely a warm light, instead of a fiery oppressor, and the breeze that danced along the streets and gently ruffled the clothing of passersby held the sweet fragrance of the newly blooming buds on the countryside and in the shop windows. With tomorrow would come Monday, and commutes, and offices, and co-workers, and piles upon piles of tasks and responsibilities--but, for today, for this one afternoon, everyone appeared to be in high spirits, not a care in the world for the impending doom that was the start to yet another work week, as if they truly believed they could exist in this realm of weekend springtime for as long as they liked.

On this day, an elderly woman ventured from her home to the farmer’s market stationed in the little shopping district around the corner. It was one of very few outings she made during the week, and the one she most looked forward to. She’d donned her favorite sunhat for the occasion and was carrying a large, burlap bag with which to insert her purchases. The place was booming, as the pleasantness of the day would have undoubtedly called for, but she meandered along through the throng nonetheless, enchanted by the happy crowd around her rather than being perturbed at their insistence in getting in her way.

That was, of course, until she inevitably ran into someone.

“Oh! I’m so--”

“Oh my god, I’m so so sorry, please excuse me!”

The woman nearly toppled over from the force of the bump, but she managed to right herself, especially with the help of the kind-sounding gentleman she’d collided with. Once situated, she was about to smile and head off once more. However, when she looked down and discovered the damage done, she suddenly exclaimed her apologies once again. It appeared a jar of grape jam had fallen from the young man’s hands in the process and smashed on the cobblestones at their feet. A couple drops of it had even landed on her crisp, white trainers, but she paid little mind to that, upset as she was at having caused such trouble for him.

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry!” she said, glancing up at the much taller figure in front of her to see a light-haired, nervous-eyed youth blinking anxiously back. He looked to be all of twenty-something, caught somewhere in between being portly and well toned, and like he might be sick at the very idea of what had just happened. She insisted that he allow her to buy him a new one, since it had been her fault for not paying attention. His bottom lip was even quivering as he shook his head earnestly.

“No, ma’am, that’s...that’s not necessary at all. P-please forgive me, it was my fault, have a nice day now.”

And, with that, he was gone. The woman shook the encounter off and soldiered on, peering at each stand she passed with mounting cheer. Along the way, she picked out some potatoes, carrots, onions, all manner of things for the stew she’d be making for her children when they stopped by for their weekly visit tonight. Soon her bag was laden with enough produce to make it just a single head of lettuce away from being too heavy for her to carry anymore, and thus she decided it was time to head home.

On her way back out, she stopped at the butcher’s area, where a stand of fish was being displayed. She paused to consider. Of course, the prospect of leftover stew was always something she enjoyed, but then again, maybe she should make fish tomorrow night. Maybe even invite over her friend that lived in the flat across the way and make a girls’ night of it. Lord knew they hadn’t done that in some time; they’d gotten too caught up in the holidays a few months back, and just let time run away with them. She didn’t see it, but they probably had tilapia, which was one of her favorites. She could fry up in a pan, easy as that.

The woman waited her turn in line, then tottled up to the man at the counter and asked for the fish. He told her that she was in luck, that he’d only had exactly two servings left. She thought it must have been fate, and she smiled in return as he rung up her purchase. Once paid for, she tucked the neatly-wrapped package into her bag and made to finally head out of the district, until she heard a disgruntled noise from behind.

“You’re _out_?”

“Yup. Sorry, sold the last two pieces to that lady there.”

Just as she turned around, she caught sight of the fishmonger gesturing in her direction, then waving goodbye to the man who shook his head and turned from the stand. It was the same one from before. Now she _really_ felt terrible. Not only had she caused him to drop something, she’d effectively stolen another of his purchases mere seconds before he could get there. He looked quite embarrassed when he saw her and tried to scuttle off, but she caught him and asked:

“Were you looking for the tilapia, dear?”

He appeared uncomfortable over even having the conversation, although he answered her anyway. “Yes, but he says he’s fresh out now.”

“I know, I got the last one.”

“That’s alright--”

“I’m sorry for earlier, but please take the fish. I really don’t need it.”

The young man looked mortified for a moment, and he persisted against her offer, “Thank you, ma’am, but no.”

“Oh, go on, then.”

“No, really, you can have it, I’m fine. Thank you so much for thinking of me, though.”

Realizing she wasn’t going to get her way on this, the woman sighed and relented, “Alright, then. Have a nice night, dearie.”

“You, too.”

And he was gone again. On her way home, the woman found that she could think of nothing else. So sweet, she could see it in his eyes. He was probably supposed to be picking up that fish for supper this evening with his girlfriend, and chances were (with how meek he seemed to be) that she was going to rip him a new one for having not gotten what she’d asked for.

***

Dating a botanist, owner of a magical plant shop, and aspiring Herbology professor did come with certain...benefits. Namely, finding oneself, on days like today, strapped firmly to all four bedposts by charm-enhanced vines, naked and hard and resisting the incessant urge to orgasm all over his abdomen at every brush of a leaf across his groin. Alright, he was sure not _every_ such a partner would find themselves in this situation, but theirs was a special case. This was the game they played on Sundays.

Draco’s breath hitched when one of the vines began playing with his puckered hole. His lover had thoroughly prepped him before he left for the Muggle market near their secluded wizarding neighborhood, which had been only the beginning to how randy he was now. There was drying lube still trickling from him, and he felt open and ready and disappointed that there was no one here to fill him. The plants restraining him were there to make sure he didn’t get himself off before his boyfriend returned; the ones teasing him were meant to keep him wanting all the while. Which was quite wonderful, actually, and exactly what he’d consented to, but none of it could replace the feeling of being pinned down and ravished by that very god of a man that he was waiting on. He found himself slowly going insane from the thoughts of what would happen when he finally returned...

Then, suddenly, his heart skipped a beat:

Down the hall, he heard the lock click and the front door creak open.

Neville must be home. Draco arched against his restraints, but didn’t struggle. The wait was finally over, and he was going to get what he’d been dreaming about for the past two hours. With bated breath, he still waited, listening intently to the sounds of the other man's heavy footsteps as he crossed into the kitchen. There was a rustling of bags, most likely his packages from the market. He’d sure taken a long time this afternoon, probably to prolong it. Merlin, Draco had to love him for that, because he could already tell the extra time was going to make the end result all the sweeter.

Just when Draco thought he might go mad from merely hearing his lover--not seeing, touching, tasting, as he so desired to--those footsteps redirected themselves down the short corridor to their room, and Neville appeared in the open doorway, a small smile hanging on his lips. As soon as he entered, the tendrils that had been toying with Draco’s balls slithered away. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of the nude blonde, lying flushed and pliant across the plaid comforter. Draco tried to look happy to see him in return, but he feared that he was just a panting, whimpering mess at this point.

“Hello, love,” Neville greeted him softly, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer before he moved to the closet to hang up his coat.

“Hi,” Draco squeaked out in return.

“It’s really lovely out today, you know. Only I ended up dropping some jam I’d bought, shattered everywhere, had to buy a new one. I felt bad for the old woman I’d run into, some of it got on her.”

“Oh...I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright. Oh, and they were out of that fish you like. Thought I’d make cornish hen instead.”

“Y-yeah, that sounds...fine.”

He watched him undress, marvelling at his broad shoulders, his muscular back, his taut buttocks in those briefs. Didn’t matter how many times he’d seen Neville naked, it was always a treat. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as soon as the other turned around, now naked himself, to reveal his already engorged shaft. Draco’s own member wept another dribble of precome in sympathy. Fuck, he wanted him so bad, he could hardly think straight. Neville had a cock that people could write sonnets about, build elaborate altars and prostrate themselves to. Salazar knew Draco’d considered it himself plenty of times. The thing was massive, for one; so thick it could barely stand itself up, even fully hard. It had a little curve at the tip, which when utilized at the right angle could make Draco see stars. All veins and a deep purple color when it was excited, it was fresh out of the ultimate pornographic fantasy.

His attention was snapped back to the man in question--rather than his gloriously impressive prick--when Neville sauntered up to the bed and gently brushed his fingertips along Draco’s sternum. “Were you good?” he asked, as he always did, his tone having dropped from its casual tenor of prior to the depths of seduction that it had promised before he’d left a couple hours ago. The blonde bit back a pitiful noise, but canted his hips desperately nonetheless.

“Yes,” the single word came out as a low hiss as the bigger of the two climbed onto the bed, presenting himself on all fours above his bound lover.

“Really?” a tease to accompany the playful smirk that now painted his face, lighting up his features in a way that made Draco’s heart stop pulsing altogether. All he could manage in return, at first, was an enthusiastic nod. Then:

“Yes. I waited for you…”

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Neville simply muttered, “Good boy,” winking as he leaned down to begin a patchwork of kisses around Draco’s nipples. The blonde mewled when one of those tiny buds was sucked and worked between his teeth, and Neville didn’t move on till he was certain he’d nibbled them for all they were worth. He licked his way down his torso, even pausing to dip his tongue into his navel. His journey south ended at Draco’s straining member, bathed in a stream of precome the likes of which he’d never seen. Just one lick to the head had him already singing all the praises he felt the other man was clearly due, and it took a hearty bite to his favorite spot--that space right beside his hip bone--to force what remained of his composure to immediately flee for the hills.

“Oh fuck, Neville, please please, I need you!”

The Gryffindor was chuckling, even as he waved his hand to dismiss the vines still encircled around his wrists and ankles--which snaked over the bed and across the floor, back into their pots lined up against the far wall--and flipped Draco around with ease. “You know I love it when you beg me,” he whispered huskily, calloused hands positioning his boyfriend on his hands and knees, to which the other was more than willing to comply. His own cock bobbed, heavy with arousal, between his legs as Neville lined himself up at his entrance. A hasty spell relubricated the still slick and stretched hole from its earlier prepping, and then he was sliding inside him, and Draco’s vision went white.

The first couple times they’d been together, Neville had treated him rather delicately, as if he was afraid the sheer size of him would split him in half if he moved the wrong way. Now, after so much time between them had passed, it was like coming home to have him buried to the hilt and slamming away like Draco was made of steel. It wasn’t long at all before his upper body fell forward onto the mattress, Neville pounding into him from behind as his hands gripped Draco’s hips fit to leave bruises.

With how long the plants had been riling him up this time, it was a wonder how he’d managed not to spontaneously ejaculate the very moment Neville had entered him. That cock felt even more magnificent than it looked. It stretched him in ways he never had been before, so big that it consistently rubbed across his prostate without much effort at all. Neville would often continue to tease him even then, barely grazing his fingers along Draco’s aching length, but he didn’t know if he could handle that today. He was quaking with the intense need to come--a desire so passionate that all other coherent thoughts had gone extinct. It was almost painful, actually, how his bollocks kept seizing up, and even though he knew he should wait until he was granted permission, he didn’t think he could hold out any longer.

Thus, this time, when that damned hand began its torturous exploration, Draco heard himself, as if from far off in the distance, suddenly shriek, “Firebolt! Firebolt! Please, Neville, I need to come, please!” At the sound of their safeword, his partner had initially slowed his ministrations, but the following plea urged him on again. A couple precise pumps to Draco’s member had him bucking and spraying their sheets, and it was only after another half a minute or so of short thrusts and a low grunt that Neville followed suit. It was heaven, feeling the larger man pulse inside him, even as he still moaned at the sparks ricocheting through his nervous system and twisting his gut in the most pleasurable fashion imaginable. It was good enough to have him ready for another round, if he was being honest. After all, this was their special day, the one they set aside every week for just such dalliances; they rarely ever only went _once_ on Sundays. They were just getting started.

Next thing Draco knew, he was being spelled clean by a contently grinning Neville, who had laid them both down on their sides facing each other and was drawing his slight, trembling frame in to nestle against his chest. _This_ was what had drawn him in at the beginning. No one in their right mind would’ve paired these two up when they were in school. They were such total opposites, and Draco was actually pretty sure his very presence terrified the young Neville on several occasions. But a few poor decisions at the Leaky Cauldron one fateful night had landed him in the former Gryffindor’s bed with a wicked headache. And there had been something so fascinating about being utterly dominated the previous night by someone who’d been afraid to even _speak to him_ many times before, only to awake to a cup of soothing tea on the nightstand and the flat filled with the comforting aroma of the man himself cooking him one hell of a hangover cure breakfast. He had been in control, yet kind, and far more mature and calm than Draco had ever seen him as a teen. And while he was still that bumbling ball of fluff a majority of the time--especially when they were out in public--the Slytherin quickly found he couldn’t stay away from him, not now that he knew what he was like behind closed doors…

“You know, I’ve been trying to invent something for one of the next times,” Neville was saying between the pair’s languid afterglow smooches. Still in a daze, Draco was only half listening, until: “I think I might be able to grow a plant that’s, like, well...You know, like a dildo of sorts. Might be fun.” His eyes were twinkling in a way that made the Slytherin’s insides clench again as he added, “I might like to walk in to you being fucked by one of those things. What do you think?”

Draco was certain the way he shoved his tongue inside his lover’s mouth and bucked wantonly against his thigh clearly got across a resounding “yes.” He’d never been into such kinky things before Neville, and now he couldn’t get enough of it. Of course, the latter tried his best to appear like he was the one calling the shots, but he knew Neville was doing it all to make him feel appreciated. It just happened to be a bonus that he also had a things for plants, and that he’d found the first bloke that wouldn’t bolt at the suggestion.

“I have to get started on dinner, love,” Neville insisted--rather unconvincingly, however--as Draco’s wandering hands found their way around to his ass, squeezing and caressing each globe even as they continued to shake.

“Mmm, are you sure?” Putting on his patented pouty voice (which of course he’d perfected over the years), Draco pressed an eager kiss to one upturned corner of his boyfriend’s mouth. “I’m willing to go again, if you want.”

Laughing quietly to himself, Neville rolled them so that he could settle on top of Draco, claiming his mouth in a fiery kiss that they both lost themselves in for quite some time before attempting to speak again. When they did finally break apart, he commented cheekily, “You know, for being the one who’s supposed to be in charge here, I rather think I spoil you.”

Draco merely flashed him a toothy, self-satisfied grin and replied, “And you love it,” before pulling him down for another good snog. And Neville kissed him back without another word, because, of course, they both knew he was right.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments = <3!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://ohlookagaydraco.tumblr.com/) and [LJ](http://fangqueen.livejournal.com/) as well!


End file.
